


maybe we could be the start of something

by sleeponrooftops



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Sexual Content, spoilers for 3a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:37:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It makes Stiles a little giddy that she’s this open with him, standing nude in his bathroom applying green cream to her face, her hair in a messy bun, her toothbrush sitting next to his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe we could be the start of something

**Author's Note:**

> Notes —
> 
> i. I’m just going to forever consider _Start of Time_ their song. It was the most perfect song they could have ever picked to play during the panic attack scene in _Alpha Pact_ , and I’m so in love with it. I downloaded all of Gabrielle Aplin’s music, and I just keep listening to her album and EPs over and over, it’s beautiful.
> 
> ii. I’m going to be starting with Stiles’ dad—why does he not have a name, this always drives me nuts when I’m trying to write—disappearing and moving forward. This was meant to encompass all of season three, and then it kind of got out of hand—which is really just the story of my writing life—and now it’s only 3a and there’s going to be a sequel once 3b is finished airing, and just—I don’t know, I blame Dylan. Therefore, this will only cover 3a—and those four months in between—and then the sequel will cover 3b.

_Oh, today I’m just a drop of water,_

_And I’m running down a mountainside._

_Come tomorrow, I’ll be in the ocean;_

_I’ll be rising with the morning tide._

It’s been happening for a while now, this thing that they’re not talking about, that they won’t define, but, in truth, it starts with Jennifer.

 

Stiles sees the idea form immediately in Scott’s brain when he’s trying to figure out how to get to Ethan, and he starts to protest when Scott turns, and he instinctively turns with him.  Lydia quirks her eyebrows at them, and Stiles wants to say so much— _please, please, please just say no, don’t listen to him, please just stay away from Aiden_ —but then Lydia’s asking what they want and Scott’s going off.

 

He’s almost grateful to be pulled along, going with Scott to find Ethan while Lydia distracts Aiden, but then Ethan’s rushing off, and when they burst into the locker room, Stiles finds her immediately, eyes wide and fearful as Lydia’s head whips around, red hair flying around her.  She meets Stiles’ gaze, and she looks terrified, and Stiles wants nothing more than to go to her and pull her against him, but he holds back, looks away and over to where the twins are arguing.

 

They don’t speak, but Stiles can feel it there between them, Lydia reaching out even as he pulls away.  Every time he closes his eyes, he hears her screaming for him outside the motel before she’s running through the gasoline, and he can’t get her voice out of his head.

 

That night, he just wants to stay home and maybe go to bed early, he’s so exhausted from everything lately, but Scott needs him, and so he goes to the recital.  He wishes, more than anything, that he had said something to Lydia, anything, before that night, because then, the next time he sees her, she’s tied to a chair, quiet tears streaming down his face, and Jennifer is throwing a desk at the door, and he can’t get to her.

 

Stiles slams a fist on the door before jumping back and then throwing himself at the door.  He screams desperately, hitting the door with his shoulder again, and again, and again until something pops in his shoulder even as the desk scrapes against the floor.  Stiles sags against the door, gasping, but the desk pushes farther, and he stumbles into the room, almost falling.

 

“Stiles,” Lydia says brokenly, struggling against her bonds.

 

“I’m coming, I’m coming—Lydia,” he pants, shaking.  He tries to lift his left arm and finds he can’t, emitting a broken cry as it drops back into an awkward angle.

 

“Stiles, _your dad_ ,” Lydia says, and Stiles looks over to see Scott picking up the crushed badge.

 

“No,” Stiles chokes out, falling into the desk, “ _No_.”

 

“Scott,” Lydia says, trying to get his attention, struggling harder.  “Scott!” she yells when he doesn’t notice her.

 

Scott jerks out of his momentary stupor, looking over.  He nods after a moment, hurrying over to free Lydia before he goes over to Stiles, who is sitting on the floor now, back to the desk.  “Hey,” he says, kneeling by him and frowning at his arm, “Stiles, look at me.”  Stiles looks over, his expression blank and exhausted.  “Dude, what did you do?”

 

“Dislocated my shoulder, I think.  Set it.”

 

“What?”

 

“Set it,” Stiles repeats, looking away.

 

Scott starts to shake his head, but then Lydia is at his side, curling a hand around his shoulder and moving him away.  She reaches over, taking Stiles’ other hand and curling their fingers together tightly.  With her other hand, she holds Stiles’ left wrist, carefully rotating his arm and then lifting, frowning when he doesn’t respond.  “Stiles,” she says softly, squeezing his hand, “I need you to look at me.”

 

Stiles turns his head, and he breaks when their eyes meet, hazel green on golden brown.  Lower lip trembling, Stiles closes his eyes, but the tears leak through anyway, and Lydia just holds his hand tighter and keeps lifting his arm.  When his shoulder pops back into place, Stiles shouts in pain, body folding over, and Lydia lets him, holding his hand still.

 

When he unfolds, Lydia sits back on her heels, waiting, and, after a moment, Stiles looks over, his face so open even though Lydia can’t read him.  “Lydia,” he says on an exhale before pushing forward and pulling her to him, embracing her.

 

She’s shocked by the contact at first, and then it all comes flooding back when Stiles whispers, “Are you okay?” into her hair, and she inhales shakily, a tremor running through her until Stiles is holding her tighter.

 

“Oh god,” she gasps out, feeling it build in her chest until she’s clinging to Stiles, a sob ripping through her.  Stiles rubs circles in her back, whispering nonsense until she starts to calm down, and then he pulls away, lifting his hands to brush the hair from her face and then cradle her jaw, eyes flicking over her, checking for injuries beyond her neck and wrists.

 

“You’re okay,” he says finally, meeting her gaze again, and Lydia shakes her head.  “I know,” he sighs, one thumb coming up to stroke over her cheek, “You will be.”

 

It happens that they find Allison and Isaac in the parking lot with Allison’s dad, Lydia still holding tightly to Stiles, Scott on his other side.  They linger only for a little before Stiles goes home with Scott, and Lydia desperately does not want to let go of his hand, but then Stiles is lifting their laced hands, kissing her knuckles, and giving her a small smile before he walks away.

 

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Allison asks, and Lydia nods robotically.

 

Allison stays with her a little while, hanging out in her bathroom, talking while Lydia showers.  After she’s dressed in something comfortable, just leggings and a loose shirt, Allison hugs her tightly and then heads out after already having ignored four calls from her dad.

 

Lydia’s parents come to talk to her, but it’s still so fresh, and her throat still aches, and she just wants to be left alone.  “I’m sorry,” she says as they nod and start to leave, “I just—I can’t do this right now, I—” she breaks off, looking over as her phone buzzes.  She lifts it even as her parents pause by the door.  It’s a text from Stiles, _are you okay?_ , and it makes her want to cry all over again.  “Can I invite someone over?” she asks, looking back to them.

 

“Of course, sweetie,” her mom says, smiling, “Allison?”

 

“No.  Stiles,” she says, looking back to her phone to respond, _no, can you come over?_

Her parents leave as her phone starts ringing, and Lydia frowns before she answers, “Stiles?”

 

“Is everything alright?”

 

“No.  I mean—yes, but no.”

 

“Okay, I just—you asked me to—” he breaks off, making a small noise of confusion.

 

In the background, Lydia hears, “Dude, she asked you over, _go over_.”

 

“Thank you, Scott,” Lydia says quietly.

 

“She said thank you, Scott,” Stiles says with an attitude, and it makes Lydia smile.  There’s some shuffling, and then Stiles is saying, “I’m on my way,” before he hangs up.

 

 _On my way_ turns out to be just over twenty minutes, but then Stiles is knocking on Lydia’s window, and she hurries to go let him in, watching as he clambers inside.  “You know, Scott has a conveniently placed tree, as well, and I’m just saying, conveniently placed trees are pretty badass, so I’m going to ask very nicely that you don’t ever cut down your conveniently placed tree.”

 

“I promise,” Lydia says softly, reaching to close the window.  She usually likes to sleep with it open, but she doesn’t feel safe.  Even with it closed, she can’t help but wrap her arms around herself, looking out at the darkness.

 

Stiles sighs and shrugs off his backpack, and Lydia looks over at the noise it makes when it hits the ground.  Stiles steps forward, folding her away in his arms, and Lydia closes her eyes, laying her head against his chest and just listening to the sound of his heart until she feels calm again.  “What’s in the backpack?” she asks, lifting one of her hands to tuck a curl behind her ear.

 

Stiles rubs his hands over her back before stepping away and shrugging one shoulder.  “Just in case things.”

 

Lydia looks at him in shock as he flops onto her bed.  “What, like a _condom_?” she spits, jaw clenching, “Because you can just _leave_ if you think—”

 

“ _Lydia_.”  His voice is hard and angry when he says her name, and Lydia flinches.  “Who do you think I _am_?” Stiles snaps, “You were almost just _strangled_ , my dad is _gone_ , and you think I brought a fucking _condom_ over to your house?  _Really_?  Maybe I should leave,” he says, getting up, but Lydia’s already across the room and reaching for him.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, catching his wrist and bringing his hand up between them, holding it between both of hers, “I’m sorry.  I—I don’t know why I said that.”

 

“It’s okay,” Stiles says after a moment, deflating, “It just—clothes and a toothbrush.”

 

“That’s reasonable,” Lydia says, trying for a smile.

 

“Is it?”

 

She nods before stepping around him to sit on her bed, scooting back until she’s against her pillows, drawing her knees up to her chest.  “Can I ask a favor?”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, sitting on the edge of her bed.

 

“Can we just pretend, just for right now, that nothing happened?  Can we play a board game, maybe, and watch a stupid movie, and I’ll convince you to paint my toenails, and then we’ll fall asleep talking—is that okay?”

 

Stiles smiles softly, nodding.  “Yeah, that’s okay.”

 

And so, they spend the night as though they’re having a slumber party—Lydia digs out Scrabble, discovers that, for once, she’s found her match, and she actually has to play at full skill level; Stiles goes through her movie collection with appreciation, eventually picking out something they can laugh at; Lydia asks about Stiles’ mom, and, in turn, Stiles asks about her childhood; in the end, they fall asleep with Stiles on his back, Lydia curled up against him, and it’s the first time either of them don’t have nightmares in a long time.

 

In the morning, it’s Lydia’s mom that wakes them, knocking lightly on the door.  “Lydia, can I come in?”  Lydia stirs, smiling when Stiles’ warm body is still beneath her.  “Lydia?”

 

“It’s open,” she calls softly.  She yawns, stretching out her legs.  As the door opens, she sits, waving as her mom comes in.

 

“Oh,” her mom says, noticing Stiles, “Your friend is still here.”  She smiles unpleasantly, and Lydia sighs, getting out of bed.

 

“He’s not Jackson, mom.  All we did was talk and hang out,” Lydia says, padding over to her bathroom.

 

When she comes back out, her mom is sitting at her vanity, looking through her things.  “Just a friend?” she asks, not looking over.

 

“I don’t know,” Lydia says, sitting next to her, “He’s liked me for so long, I can barely remember.  I was so awful to him before I knew him, before I gave him a chance.  He deserves better.”

 

“Lydia,” her mom sighs, turning and lifting her hands to undo her bun, “You are beautiful, intelligent, kind, funny, interesting, and honest.  He would be lucky to have you.  He seems like a lovely young man, despite the fact that he hasn’t woken.”

 

“His dad disappeared last night,” Lydia says quietly as she looks in the mirror.  She lifts a hand to the mark on her throat, swallowing.  “He was taken, and—and he still came over to make sure I was okay.  He’s—he’s one of my best friends, mom, and I don’t even think he knows that.  I don’t think he realizes how much I care about him, how devastated I would be if something were to happen to him.  I don’t—I don’t know how to tell him.”

 

Lydia’s mom stands and moves behind her, touching her hair lightly.  “Just let him in,” she says after a few moments before pressing a kiss to Lydia’s hair and then smiling.  “Now, let’s get you ready for school.”

 

Lydia nods, gaze flicking to where she can see Stiles in the mirror, smiling when she finds him still sound asleep, looking, finally, at peace.

 

_I’m an atom in a sea of nothing,_

_Looking for another to combine._

It really begins, though, with Allison’s dad disappearing.

 

If he hadn’t, if it had just been his dad and Scott’s mom, then maybe he would have been okay, then maybe he would have been able to deal with it, but then Allison’s dad is gone, and Stiles just keeps staring at the words, can’t comprehend them, but keeps staring at them.

 

“We still have time,” he hears Lydia saying faintly.

 

He tries to force his way back, to remember that he was supposed to tell her that he thought her hair looked beautiful today, that he likes that some of the pieces fall in her face, that he wants to carefully tuck them back and rub his thumbs over her skin, that he just wants to hold her face in his hands and _stare_ at her, but then she’s saying his name, and Stiles shatters.

 

His breath comes in fast, angry bursts, and he’s trembling all over.  His vision is going in and out, blurring around the edges, and, when he looks at Lydia, she’s the only thing he sees, and he tries to anchor himself to her, but he feels like he’s drowning, and he closes his eyes.

 

“Lydia,” he whispers, but he doesn’t think she hears him, so he pulls his voice back up and says, “I think I’m having a panic attack,” all in a rush.

 

Stiles barely notices Lydia herding him down the hall and into the locker room, barely registers where they are until his back hits cool metal and he slides to the ground.  Lydia kneels opposite him, her hands flitting all over, and Stiles just wants to grab them, to stop her, to make her still because maybe it will make him still.

 

She tells him to think of family, and it makes it worse because then all he can see is his dad’s face, the last time he saw him, and Stiles doesn’t mean to, but he emits this broken noise, sinking further in on himself until Lydia’s telling him to breathe, and he gasps out, “I _can’t_.”

 

Lydia flits nervously for a few seconds more before her hands find his face, and she tilts Stiles’ face up, and everything is slowed down to just her.  “Stiles, look at me— _sh_ ,” she says, thumbs stroking over his cheeks, and he just needs her to be closer, needs to burrow and block it all out, needs to hide, and then Lydia is closing her eyes and leaning forward.

 

Stiles is shocked, at first.  Lydia’s mouth is on his, and it’s all he’s ever wanted, and he just goes still, holding his breath as she kisses him, but she’s _kissing him_ , and he lets his eyes slip shut as he carefully kisses her back, lets it all go until Lydia’s very slowly pulling away.  They stay like that, just a few breaths apart, hazel on gold, and then Stiles exhales.

 

“How did you do that?” he asks, and it’s not what he means.  He wants to ask her how he made him forget everything but her, how she’s always done that but how did it work so strongly this time that he was so overwhelmed with just _Lydia_ that everything else disappeared.  He wants to ask her how she’s made him fall apart over her, how she got so under her skin.

 

Stiles thinks, maybe, Lydia knows all of that, knows everything that he’s always thinking, and he’s grateful that she doesn’t answer anything but his literal question.

 

After she makes the quip about going to the guidance counselor, silence settles around them, and Stiles closes his eyes, fighting with himself before he reaches forward and takes Lydia’s hand, tangling their fingers together.  Lydia lets him, even squeezes his hand, and they sit there for a few minutes, Stiles’ thumb rubbing slow circles on the back of Lydia’s hand, Lydia just breathing with him, until, finally, Stiles nods and says, “Thank you.”

 

Lydia shrugs one shoulder, looking up, “That’s what I’m here for.”

 

“What, calming panicking idiots?” Stiles says, taking his hand back and starting to stand.

 

“No, _idiot_.  We’re—we’re best friends.  That’s what best friends do for each other.”  Stiles looks over at Lydia abruptly, holding his breath, his mouth hanging open.  “Don’t do that,” she says, giving his cheek a pat before getting up, “You’ll cause another one.”

 

Stiles nods robotically, letting his breath out again.  He stands, and they head out of the locker room, Stiles grabbing his backpack by the door.  They go to find Morrell, and they start to form a plan.

 

Later, when Lydia is helping pour ice into the baths, she tries not to think about hypothermia and the effects on a human versus a werewolf and what Stiles’ odds are.  And then, when Deaton shakes his head and tells Lydia to be Stiles’ tether, it’s all she can think about until Stiles is stepping into the water and letting out a little gasp of breath, and she has to stop herself from reaching forward.  Lydia holds her breath until Stiles is in the water, only his shoulders and head above, and then it’s all she can do not to look away he shakes, his muscles bunching with the tremors that shake through him from the cold.  Hypothermia is so fast, and Lydia is so afraid.

 

And then Deaton’s nodding, and Lydia takes a slow, steadying breath before stepping forward.  She has to be strong for Stiles, needs to feed confidence into his reckless bravery, needs to let him know that she will be here to pull him back.

 

When her fingers curl around his shoulders, Stiles’ eyes flutter shut, and he turns his head, leaning his temple against Lydia’s arm.  She bites her lip, trembling, and then Stiles leaves the softest kiss on her arm before he leans his head away, and she plunges him under.

 

It’s agony, the waiting.

 

Lydia sits perched on the counter, just staring at Stiles’ still body beneath the ice water.  She can’t really see him, just a fuzzy image of him like a quick sidelong glance, he’s still there, buried beneath ice and slowly dying, slowly slipping farther away from her.

 

Isaac tries to talk to her, even waves his hands in front of her face, and though she jumps, she doesn’t look away from Stiles when she says, “Go away.”

 

“Whatever,” Isaac grumbles, folding his arms across his chest and walking away.

 

She sits, and she waits, and the seconds keep ticking by until she starts counting them.  She keeps staring, and so, when Stiles’ hand twitches, Lydia is the first to notice, jumping from the counter and hurrying over.  She steals a glance at Allison, whose head is turned to the side, and then at Scott, whose eyes are moving beneath his lids.  When she looks back down at Stiles, Lydia lets out a broken noise and starts to reach into the water when Deaton shouts, “Wait!”

 

Lydia looks at him furiously, but Deaton ignores the expression as he comes over.  “Please,” Lydia says because Stiles’ hand is rising, reaching for her, and she needs to be there for him like he has been there for her so many times.  And then his eyes flare open a second before his mouth opens and he sucks in water.  Lydia plunges in, grabbing him and hauling him out of the water.  Stiles surfaces coughing and shaking.

 

Lydia shouts in frustration when she can’t lift him out of the bath, and Stiles slaps a clammy, numb hand against the bath and shoves.  Lydia yanks until she gets him out, and they tumble to the ground.  “Stay there,” she demands before scrambling to her feet and running from the room.

 

She returns a few minutes later with as many blankets and towels as she can carry, and she dumps them on the ground before kneeling in front of Stiles.  “You’re okay,” she whispers, reaching to drape a towel around his shoulders.  “You’re okay,” she says again, shaking hands coming up to curl around his jaw, “Stiles.”

 

“I’m here,” he says, his voice raw, and Lydia surges forward, kissing him without meaning to, fingers tight on his face, breath rushing out to fill his mouth.

 

He doesn’t respond, too cold, but it’s a short kiss because then Lydia is reaching for more blankets, taking the already sopping towel and tossing it aside.  She bundles him up and then takes his hands in her own, rubbing them before she cups her hands and blows against his freezing fingers.  “You’re okay,” Lydia whispers, kissing his fingertips, “You’re okay.”

 

Stiles just closes his eyes and drops his head back.  He feels like he needs to vomit, but there’s still so much to do.

 

After everyone’s sufficiently dry for the time being, they get to figuring things out, and then they’re splitting up again.  Lydia is busy enough that she’s distracted _until they can’t find Stiles_ , and then she’s about ready to try anything.  It all works out, but she doesn’t see him again, just knows through the grapevine that everything’s okay, which is entirely fine, she tries to tell herself.

 

She doesn’t _need_ him, except when she does.

 

_Maybe we could be the start of something;_

_Be together at the start of time._

 

The night after they get everyone back, though, after Stiles’ dad has begged Stiles to just go to bed and _stay in his room_ , Stiles lies in bed and stares at the ceiling.  He tosses and turns, tries all the varying ways his mom used to help him get to sleep when he was younger and always more frantic, but nothing works, and so, around three, he fishes out his phone.

 

 _I can’t sleep_ , he sends to Lydia, hoping against all hope that she meant what she said, and there’s something like serious friendship between them.

 

The minutes start to tick by, and Stiles starts to think that he was terribly wrong, that he should have never believed there would be anything between he and Lydia but exactly what’s there—acquaintances through mutual friends.  Despite it all, despite their impromptu slumber party, despite the hugs and the hand holding, despite their quiet glances, Stiles still believes it’s all an act.

 

And then, nearly a half hour since he texted her, Stiles’ phone rings.

 

He stares at it in disbelief, stares at the picture he sneaked, of her laughing at something Allison was saying, of her so at ease being happy, and then he slides his thumb across, answering.  “Hello?” he says unsurely.

 

“I don’t know how to sleep anymore,” Lydia says, and Stiles smiles softly, settling back in bed.

 

“Sleep is for the weak,” Stiles says, and Lydia laughs, this little thing that stretches Stiles’ smile.  “Did I wake you?” he asks.

 

“No, I was out for a run.  Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, I just—I keep thinking about my dad.  I want to get up and make sure he’s still there, but I—I just—I know I shouldn’t, that I should just leave it, but I’m so afraid he’s not going to be there when I wake up,” Stiles admits.

 

“Do you want me to come over?” Lydia asks, so nonchalantly it makes Stiles’ head spin.

 

“What?” he says instead of answering because he _must_ have misheard her.

 

“Do you want me to come over?” Lydia repeats, and he can almost hear her smile.  He nods, biting his lip.  “Stiles,” Lydia says fondly, “I can’t see you nodding, doofus.”

 

“Right,” Stiles says, “Sorry.  Uh, yeah, I mean if you’re—if you’re cool with that.”

 

“I’ll be over in a few,” Lydia says, and then hangs up.

 

She stares at her phone for a few seconds before taking a quick, steadying breath and then getting up.  Lydia finds her backpack, something cute and tribal that Allison got her, and she stuffs it full with her schoolbooks, a change of clothes for school—she will never admit that she packs three outfits because she doesn’t want to come home—and a few things of makeup.  She dresses in something comfortable, just jeans and a sweatshirt, and then she slips into a pair of shoes, shoulders her backpack, and heads out.

 

Lydia doesn’t mean to speed, but there’s something thrumming beneath her skin, urging her faster, urging her closer to Stiles.  She knows it was the kiss, knows it was stupid, but she couldn’t think of how to help him, and she’s terrified that maybe Stiles felt it, felt everything she’s been trying to keep from him for so long.  After everything they’ve been through, there’s no possible way for her to deny her feelings for Stiles, but she can damn well hide them from him, and she’s so afraid he knows now.

 

She almost stops driving and turns right back around, but Lydia remembers the way he’d look at her, so open and so broken, and it keeps her going.

 

When she arrives at Stiles’ house, she sits in her car for a few minutes, parked on the street, and she stares at her hands on the steering wheel, trying to will herself to move.  And then she looks over at Stiles’ house, and she smiles.

 

The light is on in his bedroom, and she can see him running around, probably picking up, and it gives her the courage to leave her car and head toward his house.  She texts him as she’s approaching the front door, _I’m here.  Let me in?_

It takes a minute, but then the door is opening quietly and Stiles is stepping back, allowing her in.  They go upstairs without speaking, and Lydia is surprised at how still he is, how controlled.  When they get to his room, Stiles hesitates for a second before pushing inside.  Lydia steps in, one hand curled tightly around the strap of her backpack.

 

His room is just how she imagined it, a little contained representation of Stiles, and it makes her smile.  “It’s very you,” Lydia says softly as she looks around.  It’s still a mess, but it’s organized.  One wall is devoted entirely to tacks and string and pictures and articles while the others have posters and photographs pinned up, most of him and Scott, some of the boys and Allison, a few of him and Allison, one of the four of them, and then, right near the head of his bed, one of Stiles and Lydia.

 

Lydia gravitates to it, knee coming down on Stiles’ bed as she leans forward, fingers drifting over it.  “I remember that,” she says softly, smiling, “You were crazy that day.”

 

“I’d had a lot of caffeine and not enough sleep,” Stiles says, and she looks over to find him grinning, his gaze on the picture.  His voice is so quiet, Lydia almost misses it when he says, “You were so beautiful that day.”

 

She blushes, looking away from him and turning so that she’s sitting on the bed.  Stiles joins her, sitting next to her, hands in his lap.  “Do you want to talk about it?” Lydia asks.

 

“Why are you here?” Stiles immediately asks after.

 

Lydia looks over at him, eyes wide as Stiles meets her gaze.  After a beat, Lydia says, “Don’t ask me that.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I don’t know why.  I don’t know what’s going on right now, Stiles.  I’m confused, and I don’t want to talk about it, and I need you to just let whatever happens happen,” she says, and then quickly closes her mouth and looks away.  That was _not_ what she’d intended to say.

 

Ever the gentleman, Stiles lets it slide.  “Cleaning made me tired,” he says, and Lydia looks over, grateful.  He jerks his chin toward his pillow, and she nods.

 

Stiles takes a deep breath before clambering over to the far side, stretching out and laying on his side.  Lydia watches him for a moment before getting up and shrugging out of her backpack.  She moves easily, like she’s always been her.  She goes over to his dresser, opening the second drawer and smiling triumphantly when she finds neatly folded shirts.  She pulls one out, and she hears Stiles’ intake of breath when she drops it on top of his dresser and reaches for the hem of her sweatshirt, lifting it over her head.  She’s only wearing a bra underneath, and a black lace one at that, and she carefully slips out of it before pulling Stiles’ shirt over her head, taking a moment to close her eyes and breathe in his scent.

 

She shimmies out of her jeans next, and Stiles’ shirt is long enough that it brushes her thighs, and that alone makes Lydia a little giddy.  She reaches up, tugging her red curls loose of their bun.  And then, when she turns, Stiles is just _staring_ , but it’s not like Jackson used to stare, not even like how Aiden stares now.  Stiles stares as though she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, like he’ll never see another, and it always makes her heart beat a little harder, makes her chest ache a little.  He doesn’t lust after her, he loves her, and she thinks she may be starting to fall in love with him.

 

“Is this okay?” Lydia asks as she walks across the room and stops at the edge of his bed.

 

Stiles nods quickly and scrambles to get under the blankets, lifting them for her to join him.  She does so, carefully slipping under and lying on her side, facing him.

 

“Shit,” Stiles says, “The light.”

 

It breaks whatever tension there may have been, and Lydia laughs.  “I’ll get it,” she says before getting back out of bed and going across the room to where the light switch is, flicking it off.  She detours to the window on her way back, pulling it open and letting the cool night air in.

 

Lydia gets back into bed, and then all there is between them is the soft shush of their breaths and their eyes in the moonlight.  “Stiles,” Lydia whispers, “I’m sorry.”

 

“What for?”

 

Lydia shakes her head.  “For everything,” she says before scooting closer and pressing against him.  Stiles doesn’t react at first, too shocked at this turn of events, but then he closes his eyes and winds his arms around Lydia, and he doesn’t think he’s ever fallen asleep so quickly.

 

It’s the sun that wakes him.

 

Stiles blinks his eyes open slowly, and the sun has filled his room in big, beautiful bursts of golden light.  It’s almost too bright, and he looks over to his alarm clock quickly, and that’s when he remembers Lydia.  They shifted in the night, and she’s lying on her front, head turned away from him, but one hand stretched out toward him, curled loosely around his wrist.  Stiles leans forward without thinking and kisses her shoulder, and then freezes, realizing what he’s done.

 

“ _Shit_ ,” he hisses, pulling back, but Lydia’s already stirring, and then his alarm is going off, and Stiles swears louder this time, reaching over to hit the snooze button.  Lydia stretches, releasing Stiles’ wrist, before she turns over and smiles sleepily over at him.

 

“Good morning,” she whispers, and Stiles can’t help but smile back, laying down on his back and looking over at her.  He’s never seen her more beautiful than right now, hair mussed from sleep, lashes free of mascara, snuggled in _his_ bed wearing _his_ shirt, so soft looking he wishes he could kiss her.

 

“Stiles,” Lydia says very softly before she’s pushing away from the bed and leaning over, and then he’s holding his breath again.

 

Lydia kisses him like the sun, this big burst of light exploding between them before it’s just a calm storm leaking out all around them, and it’s more amazing than the first one.  She lifts a hand, curling it around his jaw, nails scraping against his cheek, and Stiles responds with a shaking hand around her bicep, holding her arm loosely.  He kisses her back as slowly as she kisses him, mouths moving easily against one another, until Stiles’ hand drifts up to her shoulder and around to her back, pulling her a little closer.  Lydia goes even as she breaks for breath, and she keeps her eyes closed, savoring the moment.

 

“Lydia,” Stiles whispers, and so she kisses him again.

 

It’s shorter this time, just a breath of mouths, before Lydia is pulling back, shaking her head, and sitting.  “We shouldn’t do this.”

 

Stiles sighs and scrubs a hand over his face before sitting, as well.  “What is _this_?”

 

“I don’t know, which is why we shouldn’t.”

 

“Okay, well.  You let me know when you’ve figured that out.”  Stiles throws back the blankets and climbs over Lydia, heading for his bathroom.

 

“Don’t do that!” Lydia exclaims, swinging her legs out of bed, “Don’t get mad and walk away!”

 

“Why not?” Stiles shouts, turning, “Lydia, I’m _in love_ with you, and you can’t just—” he brandishes a hand at the bed.

 

“Can’t do _what_?” she snaps.

 

“You can’t just fucking kiss me and then say we can’t do this when you can’t even clarify what _this_ is!  I am _losing my mind_ here, and I don’t know how much more I can take before I break, and you are my fixed point, Lydia, you are what keeps me going, and you—you do this to me, I won’t—I won’t be able to—I won’t— _fuck_ ,” Stiles lets out on a heavy breath, trying to reach for something to steady himself with as his head pounds, his heart slamming inside his chest until it hurts.

 

“Stiles,” Lydia says his name on an exhale even as she’s scrambling out of bed and running over to him, grabbing for him even as he sinks to the ground.  She pulls him against her, pressing her face against his shoulder.  “Stiles, stay with me.”

 

He groans, burying his face in her neck and just breathing her in, hand coming up to slide into her hair, fingers tangling in her curls as the other comes around to press against her back, holding her close to him.  He grounds himself in her, pulls himself back until his breathing evens out, and then he lifts his head a little, eyes opening, and his gaze lands on his dad, standing in the doorway.

 

“Lydia,” he hisses before pulling away.  He pushes to his feet, holding out a hand for Lydia, who takes it, trying to pull the shirt down a little more as she turns.

 

“Good morning, Sheriff,” Lydia says, trying for a smile.

 

Stiles’ dad looks at her for a long moment before turning his gaze back to Stiles.  He cocks his head, and Stiles shakes his quickly.  His dad nods.  “We’ll talk later,” he says before turning out, and Lydia’s expression turns to one of shock.

 

“That easily?” she whispers when he’s gone.

 

“What?” Stiles says, looking over at her.

 

“We’re getting off that easily?”

  
“What, you think my dad doesn’t know who you are to me?  Come on, genius, don’t be silly,” he says, nudging her before he goes into the bathroom.

 

Lydia stares at the closed door for a few moments before going to find her backpack.  She looks through the outfits she brought before deciding on a white lace dress with a denim jacket to go over it, rolling up the sleeves a little, and, when Stiles comes out of the bathroom, she goes in.  When she comes back out, hair in a messy bun, Stiles just smiles and ducks his eyes.

 

When they finally get downstairs, Stiles’ dad is drinking coffee and reading the paper, and Lydia hesitates for only a second before shooing Stiles away from the fridge and taking over.  She makes eggs in a basket, humming softly to herself as she does, just barely listening to the quiet conversation Stiles and his dad are having.  When she presents them with breakfast, they both look at her a little crazily, but Lydia just shrugs and goes back to the fridge to find orange juice.

 

It’s a morning like she’s never experienced before.  At home, she’s always alone, her parents long gone to work, and she usually skips breakfast, just drinking coffee and finding a protein bar, but, at Stiles’ house, they chat and eat slowly until they’re nearly late, and then they’re hurrying off, Stiles’ dad smiling as they move easily around one another.

 

They get out into the driveway, and Stiles makes a noise and stops.  “Oh,” he says, looking over at her car, but Lydia’s already ahead of him, going to the jeep and opening the passenger side door.

 

“Coming?” she asks, poking her head out the window.

 

Stiles grins and jogs over, hopping into his side and starting the engine.  Stiles puts on something fun but mellow, and Lydia feels loose listening to it until she’s laughing and talking, her and Stiles going back and forth.  They’ve got the windows down, just enjoying the nice weather, and Stiles drives slow, just enjoying the company.

 

As they approach the school, Lydia reaches over, taking Stiles’ hand.  “I don’t know what this is,” she begins quietly, “but we should talk about it, probably soon, but right now, can we be quiet?”

 

Stiles nods.  “I guess that’s fair.”

 

“I packed three outfits,” Lydia says as Stiles opens his door.

 

“What?” he says, looking over.

 

Lydia shrugs one shoulder.  “I left them in your room, along with my toothbrush.”  Stiles holds her gaze for a few moments before nodding and getting out of the jeep.  They’re barely on time, and so everyone’s pretty much there already, hanging around out front, and Stiles can practically feel their stares boring into them as they walk toward where Scott is chatting with Isaac and Allison.  Scott waves when he notices them, but Allison gives Lydia a strange look that she ignores.

 

They’re at lunch, and the girls are nowhere to be found, when Scott turns to Stiles and says, “Dude, what’s going on with you and Lydia?”

 

“I have no fucking idea,” Stiles whines, resisting the urge to flop onto the table, “She slept over last night, man, and she fucking kissed me this morning, and I have no idea what’s going on.  _Dude_.”

 

“She kissed you?”

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

“Lydia Martin,” Scott says, “She kissed you.”

 

“Scott,” Stiles says, slapping an open palm against the table, “The girl I have had a crush on since I understood girls were _cute_ and what the hell that meant _kissed me_.  Actually, more than once.”

 

“Dude.”

 

“Yeah, pretty much fucking exactly.  I’m going out of my freaking mind, man,” Stiles says, shaking his head and going back to his lunch, “I don’t know what to do.”

 

“Well, what’s going on?” Scott asks.

 

“She said we’d talk about it later, but that doesn’t help with the _right now_.”

 

“Maybe you’re friends with benefits,” Scott says unhelpfully.

 

“What benefits?” Stiles snorts, “I’ve gotten a kiss and two impromptu sleepovers thus far.  Scott, I—”

 

“Dude, wait,” Scott says, looking fairly surprised, “She’s _slept over_?”

 

“I just said that, and—well, the first time was at hers, but she brought three changes of clothes to mine last night.”

 

“Stiles.”

 

“What?” he says because Scott is giving him a look he can’t read.

 

“Lydia digs you.”

 

Stiles goes bright red, _immediately_.  He opens his mouth to argue, but then Lydia is dropping into the seat next to him and saying, “Nice shade of tomato, Stiles.”

 

He grins because, okay, they’re playing this game, so he turns, grin turning sugary sweet as he responds, “You dig me.”

 

“Oh, that’s so not what I meant,” Scott groans, dropping his head into his arms.

 

Lydia doesn’t blush—she’s _Lydia Martin_ —but she does make a little noise that sounds suspiciously like a huff, and shoots right back, “What about it, Stilinski?”

 

Scott looks up, waiting for the outburst.  It doesn’t happen.  Instead, Stiles shrugs one shoulder, says, “Just a casual observation,” and reaches for Lydia’s hand, tangling their fingers together.  Scott and Allison stare.  Lydia starts talking about their math homework, and Stiles pretends to listen, but is, in truth, utterly and hopelessly distracted by the fact that, after almost a decade of slow courting, it really was that easy.

 

Scott grins because neither of their hearts beat steadily.

_And the day is clear._

_My voice is just a whisper,_

_Louder than the screams you hear._

After school that day, Lydia and Allison decide it’s high time they all went out and just relaxed, so they arrange a plan.  Lydia goes home with Allison, then, and Stiles stops off to shower, and he’s just heading out when he sees his dad mulling about the kitchen, mostly just staring in the fridge with a furrowed brow.

 

“Hey,” Stiles says, sneaking past his dad and grabbing a water before he dumps into one of the chairs at the table.

 

“Do we have to have a conversation about safe sex?” his dad says, and Stiles chokes on his water.

 

“ _Dad_ ,” he says, and his dad turns around, lifting his eyebrows.

 

“Well?”

 

“Okay, like— _no_.  I’ve had health class, and I’ve researched the _crap_ out of sex, okay, and I’m not even just talking about porn, which is totally weird, and I shouldn’t have said that, but there’s so much anatomical nonsense that you need to know, and it’s kind of terrifying, and _dad_ , did you know the G spot, which is actually called—”

 

“Yeah, we’re not going there,” his dad cuts him off, shaking his head quickly before he sits opposite Stiles.  He holds his gaze for a few moments before sighing and sinking back, scrubbing a hand over his face.  “Look, this is new ground for both of us.”

 

“I have sleepovers all the time,” Stiles says, confused.

 

“ _Stiles_.  You have them with _Scott_.  I’m fairly certain you’ve never— _Stiles_.”

 

“What?” he asks, and then, as it dawns on him, “Oh god, no.  Dad, we’re just friends.  _Literally_ just friends.  Nothing has ever happened between Scott and I—not even a dream, okay, it’s totally platonic.  Granted, he’s incredibly attractive and very fit, which is a total plus, but no, never, not a chance, I am so onboard the Lydia Martin train.”

 

“When you say onboard—”

 

“No!” Stiles exclaims and then groans, putting his water down on the table, “Clean slate, ready?”  He waits for his dad to nod before he continues, “You do not need to have the safe sex rule with me.  I am still a virgin, _unfortunately_.  Lay the ground rules.”

 

“I don’t want to say she can’t stay here, but I don’t want you to take advantage of me, which you won’t, I know, but Stiles, you gotta understand this is unheard of.”

 

“I know,” Stiles says, nodding, “But you’re _cool_ , so it’s cool.”

 

“I can’t just be the cool dad.”

 

“Okay, you’re not, first of all, you hell at me plenty, thank you very much, but you’re kind of the greatest dad I could ever ask for, so honestly,” Stiles shrugs, “I’m okay with whatever you say right now.”

 

His dad sighs and nods before saying, “Okay, ground rules.  No sex while I’m in the house.  I think that’s fairly reasonable.”

 

“Incredibly,” Stiles says, trying to bite away his grin.

 

“I don’t know what to say about school nights.”

 

Stiles holds up both hands before he says, “Not even trying to pull the I’m-a-total-freaking-mess-right-now card, but she kind of has a really similar effect that Scott does.”

 

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” his dad says, palming his face.  He peeks over at Stiles.  “Honest?”

 

“Cross my heart,” Stiles says, finger tracing over his chest, “It’s actually a lot better than Scott’s because I totally, definitely started having nightmares at Scott’s, and it was like—shit, dad, we don’t both fit in his bed, okay, because we’re enormous teenagers, and it sucks, but Lydia—it just works.  I feel safe.  Which,” he adds hastily, “is totally not a dig against you.  I feel safe in this house, I really do, but not necessarily in my own skin sometimes, and she—she’s my tether.  She’s my anchor.  She keeps me here.”  He makes some nondescript motion with his hands, fingers twitching a little, but his dad gets it because he always does.

 

“I can’t have her parents hating me,” his dad says, “If they want her home, and they don’t want you there, then she needs to go home, and you can’t follow.  Same here, kiddo—if I say out, she’s gotta be out, and you have to stay.”

 

“Understood.”

 

“Now, let’s talk about what’s currently going on.”

 

“What’s currently going on?” Stiles repeats, confusion coming back.

 

His dad stares at him, hard, for a few seconds before he says, “I’m going out tonight.”  Stiles’ eyes go wide, and his dad nods.  “Also, if you repeat what I’m about to say to Scott, I will have to put you in a cell for a few nights.”

 

“Duly noted,” Stiles says, straightening.

 

“I’m going out with Melissa McCall.”  Stiles contains the outburst for barely half a second before he’s jumping up, throwing a fist up and doing a small dance before he clambers back over and into his chair, trying to look composed.  “You’re awful,” his dad says, and Stiles just explodes with laughter, doubling over.

 

When he’s finished, he comes up grinning.  “Like—on a date?” he asks.

 

“Shut up, okay,” his dad says, scrubbing at his face again.  They’re quiet for a bit, and then, “It’s a long time coming, isn’t it?”

 

“Oh, hell yeah,” Stiles says, still grinning, “This is so cool.  You’re going to be awesome.  _Dad_.  I think I need to hug you.  Like, three minutes ago.”

 

His dad just laughs and stands, opening his arms, and Stiles hurries over, hugging him tightly.  He feels little again suddenly, and he holds on, closing his eyes and just memorizing this moment until he steps back, smiling.  “I gotta go, but—call me if anything, yeah?  You’re going to be _awesome_ , dad.”

 

“Thanks, kiddo.”

 

Stiles grins and hugs him again quickly before he heads out, going over to Scott’s, where it’s absolute torture as he goes in through the front door and there’s Melissa, who he chats with for a bit before going upstairs.  He shoves it all down before he goes into Scott’s room where Isaac is sprawled across his bed while Scott stands in his closet, looking forlorn.  Stiles goes to help him and then dumps onto Scott’s bed next to Isaac.

 

“Hey, heard you were the new Jackson,” Isaac says casually.

 

“What?” Scott and Stiles snap at the same time.

 

“Well, obviously not the new Aiden, seeing as he was a purely physical distraction.”

 

“Isaac,” Scott sighs.

 

Isaac rolls his eyes dramatically.  “Congrats on the boyfriend status, or whatever, is what I mean.  Take all the fun out, why don’t you,” he grumbles.

 

Stiles ignores him and instead fishes out his phone, smiling when he sees a text from Lydia, and then frowns when he reads it, _we invited Danny, who asked if Ethan could come, who in turn asked about Aiden.  I guess things have been rough.  That okay?_

Stiles chews on the inside of his cheek before answering, _yeah.  There’s nothing still there, right?_

When Lydia responds, he can nearly see her practiced eye roll, _of course not, don’t be an idiot._ Stiles shakes his head, smiling, before putting his phone away, and then he just focuses on trying to make nice with Isaac while they both make fun of Scott for trying too hard.

 

Eventually, they’re heading out to Allison’s house, where the twins’ bikes are, and they all pause, just looking at it.  “So,” Stiles says finally, “How are we proceeding?”

 

“I hate them, personally,” Isaac says, and Scott looks over, holding his gaze for a few moments before he turns it back to the bikes.

 

“I think we should give them a chance,” Scott says, and Isaac sighs.  “What?” Scott asks, looking back.

 

“You’re the alpha, man.  Whatever you want.  I just think they’re douchebags.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Scott sighs, “They are, but—look, they don’t really have a pack anymore, they’re not alphas, and I know what they did was absolute shit, and they have a long way to go before we should even consider trusting them, but I think we should give them a shot.”

 

“ _We_?” Isaac says, sounding disgusted, and Scott frowns, looking over at Stiles before back at Isaac, who shakes his head and gives Scott’s seat a good shove until he sighs and climbs out.  Isaac tries to stride past him, fuming, but Scott grabs his arm and hauls him to a stop.

 

“Yes, _we_ ,” Scott says, jerking Isaac’s arm until he looks up at him, “We are a _pack_ , Isaac.”

 

“And you’re the _alpha_ ,” Isaac reminds, ripping out of Scott’s grip.

 

“And you are my beta,” Scott says softly, lifting both hands in surrender and stepping back, “We’re a family, dude.  Don’t think for one second I wouldn’t take your opinion into consideration.”

 

“Scott, you already want to include them, man.  You’re already all about them.”

 

“I am _not_.  I don’t trust them, I don’t like them, and I don’t know if I’ll ever feel comfortable with them in _our_ pack.  And you know what,” he breaks off, turning his gaze on Stiles, “You two need to stop with whatever shit is between you.  I’m sick—”

 

“Oh, _come on_ ,” Isaac groans, rolling his eyes, “He’s just a _human_ , Scott.”

 

“And you’re just a fucking _beta wolf_ ,” Stiles snaps right back, coming forward.

 

Scott gets between them, hands coming up on either side.  “Guys!” he shouts as Allison’s front door opens.  “Enough,” Scott says quietly, looking at Stiles first, who nods after a moment and steps back, and then at Isaac, who grits his teeth, the muscles working in his jaw.  It takes longer, but he steps back, as well, and then Scott turns his full attention on him.  “Human or wolf, we are in this together.  You know that, Isaac.  It’s me and you, Stiles and Lydia and Allison, and maybe it’ll be Ethan and Aiden someday, and fuck all, maybe it’ll be Derek and Peter someday, too, but we need to stick together.  You and me, though—we need to understand each other.  I know he’s a human, but so are you, and so am I, and as he is my brother, so are you.  Just—chill out, okay?”

 

Isaac shakes his head once, looking over at the twins as they appear behind the girls, and then he looks back to Scott.  “Yeah, okay,” he says finally, stepping back and bowing his head.

 

Scott waits a moment before letting out a heavy breath and turning.  “You okay?” he asks Stiles quietly, who nods.

 

“Everything good?” Allison asks as she and Lydia come over.  The twins linger by the doorway, Danny giving them all weird looks for a second before he follows the girls.

 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Scott says before he makes the first move, waving to the twins.  Ethan elbows Aiden before jogging over, and Scott smiles lightly.

 

“We’re taking Allison’s car,” Lydia says even as she heads for the jeep, grabbing Stiles’ hand on the way and tugging him over.  “ _And Roscoe_ ,” she clarifies when no one else moves.

 

They start deciding on who’s going where, and Stiles tries to pay attention, but then Lydia’s tugging him around to the back of the jeep and pressing him against the cool metal.  “You,” she says, her voice pitched low, and it goes straight to Stiles’ groin.

 

“Me?” he says, his voice cracking a little as he looks down at her.

 

Lydia just smirks wickedly and leans up on her tiptoes, one hand sliding up to thread in Stiles’ hair and guide him down.  She kisses the corner of his mouth, and then his bottom lip, and then Stiles doesn’t care where they are or who is looking, he pulls her closer and kisses her on the mouth, putting nine years of wanting nothing more than just _this_ , his Lydia, kissing her like this is the first and last time he will ever get the chance.

 

Lydia makes this soft noise of surprise and leans a little closer, one hand curling around Stiles’ bicep before she’s tracing her tongue along his bottom lip, asking, and Stiles opens to her, lets her in and tastes her everywhere, groans when she licks the roof of his mouth, and he never wants to pull away, never wants to breathe again if it means he won’t have this.

 

“ _Lydia_ ,” Allison says sharply, suddenly, and Stiles starts to pull away, but Lydia holds on, breaking them apart slowly, bringing them down until Stiles is letting out a shaky breath and pressing his forehead to Lydia’s, eyes still closed.

 

“Well then,” Lydia says, a little breathless.  Stiles opens his eyes, grinning when he sees her, with her hair a little mussed, and her lips a little swollen, and her eyes so wide, and he did this to her, he did this to Lydia Martin, _his Lydia_.  “I should—I should go,” she says, her expression a little bewildered, and it just makes Stiles’ grin grow.

 

She steps back and starts to walk away before turning, opening her mouth to speak.  “Your bag,” Stiles says, and Lydia laughs, nodding.

 

“Yeah,” she says, and then she’s biting the corner of her lip, trying to contain her grin.

 

Stiles pushes off the jeep and opens the back, reaching in to grab Lydia’s bag.  “I, uh—I left your clothes in my room,” Stiles says as he turns back with it, holding it out.

 

“Good,” Lydia says, skipping forward and kissing him lightly, softly, and Stiles holds onto it as she smiles against his mouth and then leaves, going to find Allison.  He stays there for a moment, just grinning wildly, so beyond ecstasy, and he doesn’t know the last time he felt this good.

 

When he drops behind the wheel, Scott takes one look at him and then starts making obnoxious noises, shoving at him until Stiles smacks him, and Isaac snorts from the back.  “Dude,” Isaac says, and he may be smiling a little, but he’ll deny it furiously, “Lydia Martin has the hots for you.”

 

“Fuck yeah, she does,” Scott says, giving Stiles a last playful shove and settling into his seat.

 

Stiles just gets comfortable and backs out the jeep, and it’s not until they’re on the road, following Allison’s car that he lets out a holler, and they all start laughing.

 

——

 

They end up an hour out of Beacon Hills, at a Japanese hibachi grill, and, just as they’re all pulling into the parking lot, they get a mass text sent via Lydia, _official rule for tonight: no supernatural.  We’re out to have fun, lovers._ Scott checks that Stiles and Isaac got the message, too, before they find a spot and head for the restaurant.

 

It ends up that Stiles is sitting between Lydia and Scott, Allison and Isaac on Lydia’s side, the twins and Danny on Scott’s side, and it’s more fun than any of them have had in a long time.  Stiles makes them try sushi, which in turn somehow means that Aiden demands they try fried ice cream, and both turn out to be a hit until Isaac starts poking at his sushi and freaks out about the seaweed.  They laugh and throw rice at him, and the night progresses like this.  The twins start finishing each other’s sentences, getting comfortable enough that they loosen up a little, Scott starts to laugh genuinely, Allison freaks out over the fried ice cream and demands they start making this a monthly thing, and Lydia keeps getting closer until she’s leaning against Stiles as they’re paying.

 

After they finish up there, Allison and Lydia reveal their plans aren’t finished, and that’s how they end up at a massive playground.  Stiles jumps on Scott when they get out of the jeep, and they run off screeching.  Lydia watches them go with a fond smile as Allison comes over and says, “Wanna hit the swings?”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Lydia says, turning and heading off.  They make for the swings, shoo Isaac away when he tries to join them, and they just let the night air rush over them for a bit until they’re just pushing lazily against the ground, and Lydia says, “Okay, spill.”

 

“What are you doing?” Allison asks immediately, looking over.

 

“With what?”

 

“With _Stiles_ , Lydia.  Do I have to be worried?”

 

“About _what_?” Lydia says, raising an eyebrow at her.

 

“Are you going to hurt him?”

 

“ _Really_?  After _everything_ —”

 

“Lydia, after everything, it’s a pretty valid concern,” Allison cuts her off, and Lydia huffs after a moment, looking away.

 

“I know,” she says quietly, turning her gaze to the left when she hears Stiles’ voice.  She smiles as she hears him approaching, and she wants nothing more than to steal him from Scott and find somewhere quiet to kiss him senseless.  “I like him, Allison,” Lydia says, closing her eyes, smile widening as he laughs, his voice closer now.  “I might love him,” she whispers.

 

She doesn’t mean for Allison to hear, but she does, and Lydia looks over when Allison makes this aborted, choking noise, staring at Lydia with wide eyes.  “ _What_?” she says, mouth hanging open a little.

 

“You’ll catch a fly, dear,” Lydia says before sliding off her swing and brushing off her skirt.

 

“Lydia—” Allison tries, but then Stiles is in sight, Scott nodding and laughing next to him, and Lydia makes her way over to them.

 

“Hey,” Stiles says softly as she approaches.

 

“I’m stealing him,” Lydia says to Scott before walking past them, and Stiles tries to say something, fails miserably and ends up just mumbling something incomprehensible, before Scott gives him a shove, and he hurries to follow her.

 

He catches up with her by one of the slides, and Stiles reaches forward, plucking up her hand, lifting it to his mouth and kissing the backs of her knuckles.  Lydia smiles up at him before stepping closer, letting Stiles wind an arm around her.

 

“Having fun?” Lydia asks.

 

Stiles hums and kisses her mess of red curls.  “Yes.  Thank you,” he responds softly.  They walk for a while in comfortable silence until Lydia makes a quiet noise and turns them toward the play structure, climbing up a set of stairs.  Stiles follows her, and they make their way until they’re on level ground again, and Lydia sits, looking up at the star-filled sky.  “So,” Stiles says as he sits, as well, back against the wall, “Do you and Allison have any more plans for tonight?”

 

“Allison might,” Lydia says, shrugging, “But I certainly do.”

 

Stiles opens his mouth to respond, but his words fall silent as Lydia shifts, legs parting as she settles in Stiles’ lap, hands coming up to rest on his chest.  “Oh,” Stiles says on an exhale, “I mean, yeah—yeah, that’s certainly a, uh—a _plan_ , Lydia, a very nice—”

 

“Stiles.”

 

“Yes, Lydia?”

 

“Shut up,” she says sweetly.

 

Stiles nods fervently, and Lydia just laughs softly, shaking her head, before she leans down to kiss him.  They kiss slowly at first, letting the tension build easily between them until Lydia is nearly humming with it, her skin pulled tight, every muscle in her bursting for _more_ , and she reaches for Stiles’ hands, which have been so gentlemanly, just tracing the contours of her back, sometimes gripping at her waist.  Her fingers curl around his wrists and she starts to bring them around front when Allison calls her name.

 

They jump apart, and Lydia lets out a furious undercurrent of profanity as she hears wooden boards creak nearby.  “I am _not_ done with you,” she says sharply before kissing Stiles with enough force that he may come away a little out of breath.

 

“Lydia!” Allison calls, closer now, and Lydia sighs before pushing against Stiles’ chest, using him as a means to get up.  He scrambles up after her, and Lydia clear her throat, eyes flicking down to his groin briefly before Stiles is making this aborted noise and turning, adjusting himself.  He turns back just as Allison is appearing in the moonlight, and she starts to back away, apologizing.

 

“We’re decent,” Lydia says, but she storms away anyway, leaving Stiles just kind of gawking at the whole situation.

 

Allison grins before she turns, and Stiles follows her.  “What’s going on there?” Allison asks as they head back through the structure.

 

“I wish I knew,” Stiles admits, shrugging one shoulder, “There’s _something_ , I think, but no labels or anything yet.”

 

Allison casts a gaze over her shoulder at Stiles before sighing.  “I’m going to let her figure it out, if that’s okay.  She knows, but she’s afraid.”

 

“Yeah, that I’m very familiar with,” Stiles mumbles, and then they’re climbing down and Isaac is there waiting.  “Hey,” Stiles says before Allison goes over to Isaac, and she pauses at his hand on her arm, “Just—give Scott some time, okay?  It still hurts for him.”

 

After a moment, Allison nods, and she doesn’t stand as close to Isaac as Stiles knows she wants to.  They all head back, catching up with Lydia a little ways away, where she’s chatting on the phone, and Stiles takes her hand, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing her fingers.  She flashes him a smile before she answers something her mother’s asked, and Stiles just lets her go on, not really listening.

 

They all say their goodbyes before they split up, Stiles, Scott, Lydia, and Isaac in the jeep, and Allison, the twins, and Danny in her car.  Stiles drops Scott and Isaac off at Scott’s, and then it’s a quiet ride home until he’s pulling up in front of his house, and Lydia leans over to kiss him on the cheek before hopping out and going around back to grab her things.  Stiles gets out when he hears the back shut again, and he waits for her, tangling their fingers together before they head up to the front door.

 

“Is your dad home?” Lydia asks as they go inside to a dark house.

 

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, squeezing her hand, “I totally forgot to tell you, and I meant to because I’m only not allowed to tell Scott, but he’ll probably know soon anyway—”

 

“Stiles.”

 

“Right.  My dad and his mom are out on a date.”

 

“No way!” she exclaims, smacking his arm lightly, “Are you happy about that?”

 

“Yeah, actually,” Stiles says, nodding, “Melissa was always kind of like a second mom to me anyway, I think I’d be okay if this actually went somewhere, and I think Scott would, too.”

 

“Oh god, then you two would be even more obnoxious than usual,” Lydia says as they’re going up the stairs, “I can’t even imagine, the potential of you and Scott actually living together someday.”

 

“Gonna happen one way or another,” Stiles says, smiling when Lydia opens his door and just _goes inside_ like she belongs there, like she always has.  He can’t help but watch her, and he knows she’s saying something, but he’s so distracted by the way she tosses her bag toward the end of his bed, where it lands on the floor, before she sits down on his bed, reaching to tug off her shoes.

 

“Are you even listening?” she asks, glaring at him as she straightens.

 

“No,” he says, shaking his head, and Lydia actually smiles.

 

“And why’s that?”

 

“Distracted,” he says softly, leaning against the doorway and just staring at her.

 

Her smile goes a little wicked, and it stirs something in Stiles’ blood, making him run a little hotter.  Lydia doesn’t speak, instead lets her body say all that she holds quiet as she slowly stands, and she leaves a trail of her clothes as she crosses the room toward the bathroom.  Her jacket is dropped a few inches from her shoes, her blouse a few feet after, her skirt next, and then she’s just left in a thong and tank top, and Stiles’ doesn’t know how his gaze is still on hers.  Lydia’s grin is all feral before she disappears into the bathroom, and Stiles lets out this agonizing noise the second she’s gone.

 

He hears her laugh in the bathroom, and then the water is turning on, and he doesn’t know what to do.  He stalls, listening to her shuffle around before the glass door is sliding back, and, a few seconds later, she’s calling out, “I stopped by my house—can you bring my bag?”

 

Stiles hurries to do her bidding, yanking open her bag and rifling through until he finds a small bag of toiletries, and he brings it into the bathroom, trying not to think about the fact that he can see Lydia’s shape through the distorted glass.  “How did you manage such a fantastic bathroom, by the way?” she asks as he comes in.

 

“My mom was really into interior decorating, and she did the whole house over.  They were her favorite type of shower, so we all got them.”

 

“I wish I had been able to meet her,” Lydia says softly.

 

“She would have liked you.  She was fierce, too.”

 

The door slides open, and Lydia pokes her head out.  “I’m fierce?” she asks, reaching out a hand, fingers wiggling.

 

Stiles hands over the bag.  “A warrior,” he says, and Lydia beams at him, so genuine it makes his chest ache.

 

“Are you going to join me?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow.

 

“Am I _allowed_?” Stiles squeaks.

 

“That was unattractive,” Lydia says, and then she’s gone.

 

It takes him a second, but then Lydia is sighing a _yes_ , and Stiles is scrambling to get out of his clothes, and he’s about to step forward when he realizes, _shit_ , this is _Lydia Martin_ , and he’s about to see her naked, for the very first time outside of his dreams, and the thought alone goes straight to his dick.

 

“Um,” Stiles says, and Lydia laughs fondly.

 

“Don’t be shy.  Rule number one, we’re showering right now.  That playground was _gross_ , and I need to actually be productive in here.  That means you, as well.”

 

“Okay,” Stiles says after a pause before he pulls back the door.

 

“Rule number two, _ogling_.”  Stiles steps in before he fully processes this, and then Lydia’s giving him this look, from hair to toes, and he stops breathing.  Her teeth scrape over her bottom lip, pulling in the corner, as her gaze lingers, and then Lydia’s staring at him, her pupils getting wider.  “Well,” she says, arching one perfect eyebrow, “Your turn.”

 

Stiles lets out his breath because _fucking hell_ , Lydia just gave him permission to _ogle_ her, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take advantage of this opportunity.  His first glance is quick, nervous, but then he sees the way her toes curl, and it makes him smile, and he goes slow, lets himself enjoy the view.  She’s just _Lydia_ this way, blushing and a little shy, her legs curved together, hiding, and she starts to lift a hand up toward her breasts because he’s technically already seen her like this, but she was so disoriented that time, and she hadn’t known what to do with her hands but let them shake.  He sees her hand move, though, and Stiles steps forward, reaching for her wrist, stopping her.  He looks back up at her eyes and shakes his head once.  “Don’t hide from me,” he says softly, and, for a second, Lydia looks like she might respond similarly, but then she’s exhaling sharply and lunging forward, kissing Stiles hotly.

 

He’s caught off guard for a moment, but then Lydia’s body is pressing against his, her warm skin everywhere, lighting his on fire, and he grabs at her, fingers digging into her back as she takes a step back, and he goes, letting them fall into the wall.  Hot fair sprays around them as they kiss, sliding around them, slicking their bodies until Lydia breaks away with a laugh, clinging to Stiles when she almost slips.

 

“This is a terrible idea,” she says, and Stiles nods, smiling widely.

 

“Yeah, probably,” he says, “Shower?”

 

And so they separate, and it’s fairly easy, after a few bumps, to work around one another.  The shower isn’t too small that they’re squished together, and it’s nice, almost, Stiles decides, to just be here with Lydia, doing something so simple and, suddenly, so peaceful.

 

They finish up, and Stiles gets out first, reaching for a towel and handing it to Lydia as she gets out.  They dry off, and Stiles starts to reach for his shirt when Lydia steps forward, towel dropping to the ground, and Stiles’ breath catches in his throat as he looks down at her naked body, her hair still wet and dripping down her soft skin, and he just wants to reach out and _touch_.

 

“Stiles,” Lydia whispers, stepping closer, “I—I—” she stops, closing her mouth tightly.  There’s so much she wants to tell him, _needs_ to tell him, but she doesn’t want to cheapen the moment, doesn’t want to _ruin_ it like she has so many times before.  Jackson hated whenever she told him she loved him before, during, or after sex, and she’d never had the chance to even consider it with Aiden, not that she’d necessarily wanted to, and she doesn’t know how Stiles will react, doesn’t know how _she’ll_ react because she’s not sure she means it, but she thinks she’s well on her way to meaning it.

 

“Lydia,” Stiles breaks the spell, hand twitching at his side.

 

The urge to _say_ something is overpowered suddenly by the urge to be _touched_ , and Lydia closes the distance between them, gasping when the weight of his cock presses against her hip.  Lydia reaches for his hand, pulling it up and letting it rest against her breast, and Stiles lets out a ragged breath, staring down at her as he flexes his hand, squeezing lightly.  Lydia lets her eyes flutter shut, back arching toward him, trying to give him the permission he’s looking for, and it’s as though something snaps in him.  The moment her neck is bared, the moment she tips her head back, Stiles’ mouth is there, sucking the sensitive skin between his teeth for a brief second before he maps his way wetly down her neck and to her shoulder, and Lydia gasps when he bites there, hand squeezing harder this time, thumb coming over to rub over her nipple.

 

“Lydia,” he groans against her shoulder, head turning so that his nose brushes against her neck.

 

His other hand comes up to cradle her hip, and she can feel it there, all of his energy just waiting, and so she presses them closer together, leans up until her lips brush his ear, and says, “I want you inside of me, Stiles.”

 

It breaks him.

 

Stiles grabs both her thighs, parting them and lifting her easily, and Lydia lets out a soft shout, clinging to him as her feet leave the ground.  Her breath leaves her in a shuddering gasp as Stiles _carries_ her out of the bathroom, and oh god, she never thought she’d be turned on by this, by such a show of strength, but she can feel it all over him, his muscles taught and thrumming with want.  She’d been so busy caught up in their whirlwind of a life, she hadn’t noticed him going from pale, scrawny Stiles to this toned, strong _man_.  It makes sense, of course, but it still takes her by surprise, and then he’s lowering her onto his bed, and Lydia can’t help but _stare_.

 

His hair is softer and a little curly when it’s dry like this, just from the shower, and it makes his whiskey eyes look a little bigger and more adorable, and, if she didn’t desperately need this right now, need _him_ right now, Lydia would want nothing more than to curl up with him and count his freckles and moles.

 

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks, and Lydia frowns at him.  Stiles mimics her expression and drops over onto his side, and Lydia is frowning now in frustration because that is _not_ what she wants.  “You kind of spaced out there,” Stiles says, looking a little torn.

 

“Oh,” Lydia says, understanding suddenly, and how has he done this to her?  How has he got her so dumbfounded _she’s_ the one trying to keep up?  “I was just admiring the view,” she says, and Stiles laughs, hiding his face in her shoulder.  That’s when she realizes, with dawning clarity, that there’s something she’s not sure about.  “Stiles,” she says slowly, “Are you—are you still—”

 

“Yes,” he says with such finality that Lydia wonders if he was waiting for her.

 

The thought makes her heart beat a little harder, and so she masks it by tugging him back toward her and kissing him.

 

They get lost in each other, lost in the slow tangle of limbs until Lydia is burning with a dull fire, one that will never be put out, and she yearns to be closer, to know Stiles in every way possible, to know him as intimately as possible.

 

“Stiles,” she whispers, and then he’s turning her onto her back and hovering over her, hand sliding along her body.  She doesn’t expect him to be so bold, doesn’t expect his hand to drift toward her cunt, to flutter his fingers over so that’s she gasping, doesn’t expect him to slide a thumb between her folds and press against her clitoris, but he does, and Lydia reacts with a soft noise, hand coming up to curl around his bicep, to ground her.

 

He dips down, mouth mapping out her throat and collarbone and breasts, his thumb moving in slow circles.  Lydia has never been thought of like this before, never been _considered_ , and she attributes that to why she’s pulling on him so quickly, why she feels her orgasm building sooner than it usually does, and Stiles looks up when her soft breaths turn into small whimpers, her eyes squeezed shut as she tilts her head back.

 

“Stiles,” she gasps, hand sliding up to fist in his hair.  He shifts, angling himself better, kissing along her jaw and up to her mouth, but it’s fast, a hard, bruising thing before Lydia’s breath is hitching higher, and she’s letting out this slow whine, fingers tight in Stiles’ hair.

 

“ _Stiles_ ,” she moans, and he responds with a low groan, burying his face in her neck, just breathing in the scent of her.  “Oh god,” she gasps, hips twitching upward as his thumb moves faster, rubs harder, and she’s right there, right _there_ , and she knows he’s close, too, can feel it in the way his shoulders tremble, and she wants to stop, wants to bring him back down, wants him to come for the first time _with her_ inside of her, but then he kisses her neck wetly, and Lydia _keens_ , whole body locking up a split second before she’s shaking, clinging to Stiles as she comes, toes curling in his sheets.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, pressing harder against her.

 

“Don’t—don’t come,” she gasps, struggling to come down.

 

“Fucking trying not to,” he pants, and then he’s pulling back to kiss her.  Lydia lets him, knows he’ll calm down a little if he just lets himself drift.  When she can breathe properly again, Lydia rolls over and reaches for his nightstand, her legs still trembling a little as she shifts so that she can open the top drawer and rummage around.  She comes up with a condom and then turns back, eyes flicking down to Stiles’ hard cock, resting against his belly, and she wants so badly to take him in her mouth, to taste him and let him sit heavy on her tongue, but she’s saving that for later, for when she can really work him up.

 

“Is this okay?” she asks because this is something that was never special for her, something she gave away in a foreign country to a man too old for her, and she doesn’t even remember his name, but she wants this be right for him, wants this to be everything he’s ever dreamed of, and she knows, she damn well knows he’s dreamed of her.

 

“This is so much better than okay,” Stiles says, and he’s got this goofy grin that just makes Lydia smile because he looks at her like she’s the _sun_ , like she’s everything to him, and it makes all the darkness disappear because Stiles is her tether, her anchor.

 

“Stiles,” she says, looking up at him, and he nods, his grin becoming soft.

 

The first touch of her hand on his dick makes Stiles gasp, and so Lydia goes slowly, rolling the condom on and then starting to rise to her knees so she can part her legs on either side of him, but Stiles shakes his head, drawing her close and kissing her.  “Is it okay—I mean—I just—” he breaks off with a huff, and Lydia blinks.  “I’d like to give it a go first, if that’s okay,” he finally says, and Lydia nods quickly, letting him roll them, and while she’s certainly spent a fair amount of time on her back with Jackson and Aiden, it had never been after they’d asked her permission.  It was always rough, always fast, always whatever they wanted, but Stiles—Stiles is different, and she’s always known that.

 

Stiles hand drifts down, fingers rubbing over her wet cunt briefly before he’s sliding a finger inside, and Lydia inhales sharply, letting him go slow, letting him discover her, until he’s adding another finger, and then another, and then she’s tightening around him, inner walls fluttering.  “Stiles,” she gasps, reaching for him, and he lets his fingers come out and curl around his cock, shifting until the head pushes lightly against her.

 

“Yeah?” he says, and she can’t help but smile at how endearing, how nervous he is right now.

 

“Yes,” she says, reaching up to curl her hands around his jaw and kiss him.

 

And then he’s sliding inside, and Lydia breaks away with a shudder and a low moan, eyes slipping shut as Stiles swears and presses his forehead to her shoulder.  They lie there, still, for a few moments, before Lydia brings a hand up, nails scratching lightly against the nape of Stiles’ neck, and she can feel his smile when he kisses her shoulder.

 

They make love.

 

There’s no other way Lydia can think to describe it—he doesn’t fuck her, they don’t simply have sex, and it opens her up, from the inside out, until she thinks she might cry, and she nearly does because she’s never been loved like this before, never been _adored_.

 

Stiles goes slow, pours everything he’s ever felt into every movement between them, every whispered word and shared breath, every moan and every gasp, until Lydia’s begging him for just a little faster, and then they’re kissing, bodies sliding together easily, like they were made to be this way.

 

He breaks away to say her name, “ _Lydia_ ,” like it’s something reverent, as he feels fire pooling in his belly, and her thigh tightens against his side where it’s hitched around his ribcage, the other still bent, toes curled in the sheets.

 

“Stiles— _Stiles_ ,” she says, squirming beneath him.  He shifts onto one of his elbows, his other hand coming down to settle between them, thumb pressing against her clit, rubbing until Lydia’s cunt is tight and warm, and Stiles feels like he might burst.

 

“ _Lydia_ ,” he groans, his thrusts going wild as he chases her heat, his thumb moving furiously against her until Lydia gasps, nails digging in against his shoulder and neck, and Stiles stops breathing a beat before she comes, her breath coming out on a soft, shattered cry, and it breaks him.  He comes with her name on his tongue, her mouth looking for his, and they kiss as he squeezes his eyes shut, cock pulsing inside of her.

 

And then, all he can hear is the rush of their hearts, beating erratically, and he pulls away from her mouth and holds her, wrapping them together until all he can feel is her breath against his ear, and then, “Stiles.”

 

It takes him a few moments, but Stiles untangles them, dropping onto his back with an exhausted groan.  Lydia leans over and kisses him, lightning quick, before she’s up and making her way over to the bathroom.  Stiles watches her go, smiling so wide it hurts his jaw, and he moves only when the door is closed, disposing of the condom and looking around for something to clean himself with.

 

The door opens again before he finds anything, though, and Lydia waves him in, so he just goes to find a towel, and they get distracted kissing slowly before Lydia’s laughing and pushing at his chest.  “You taste like sex,” she says, and somehow it sounds fond.  Stiles just beams at her, this big, toothy grin that makes her laugh louder before she’s retrieving her toiletries bag.

 

They brush their teeth, and Lydia puts on a night mask that she says needs fifteen minutes to sit before she can wash it off, and it makes Stiles a little giddy that she’s this open with him, standing nude in his bathroom applying green cream to her face, her hair in a messy bun, her toothbrush sitting next to his.

 

It’s only just after midnight when Stiles goes back into the room and finds a clean pair of boxer briefs and a shirt, and so he finds a movie to pop in, leaves Lydia to her nightly routine to go make popcorn and find water and whatever other treats he can, and then he’s dumping everything on his bed as Lydia comes out, fresh-faced and beautiful.

 

“Hey,” he says, straightening.

 

“Hey yourself,” Lydia says, and Stiles can’t help but laugh.  “What’s this?” she asks, gaze flicking to the bed.

 

“Post coital cuddling with added snacks and awesome movies.”

 

“Yeah, you’re a keeper,” Lydia says, leaning up to kiss him before she goes over to his dresser and steals one of his shirts.

 

_There’s a ghost upon the moor tonight._

_Now it’s in our house._

It’s the sun that wakes her.

 

Lydia blinks her eyes open slowly, and the sun has filled Stiles’ room in big, beautiful bursts of golden light.  She stretches, catlike, and pushes against Stiles’ chest until she can see his alarm clock.  It’s just barely ten o’clock, but it’s Saturday, and they deserve to sleep in.  She yawns and starts to settle again when she notices Stiles looking up at her sleepily.

 

“Good morning,” he mumbles, and Lydia smiles, suddenly giddy, dipping down to kiss him.

 

She settles after, Stiles’ warm body beneath her, his arms wrapped around her, and she closes her eyes, just listening to his heart, thump, thump, thumping.  She lets herself drift until her own heartbeat is in sync with his, and then she takes a slow breath and says his name, very quietly, “Stiles.”

 

“Mm?” he hums, and she knows he’s not really awake.

 

“I need you to listen.”

 

“M’listenin’,” he says around a yawn.

 

“Liar.”

 

“Gimme second,” he murmurs, and he’s still for a second before he stretches, yawning so widely his jaw cracks.  “Mother hubbard,” he groans, reaching up a hand to rub at his jaw before he turns, shifting Lydia until she’s on the bed and he can roll onto his side.  He opens his eyes, blinking slowly, and he smiles when she just stares at him.  “Hello beautiful,” he whispers before he kisses her softly, and it gives her courage.

 

Stiles settles back on his pillow when he pulls away, and he starts to close his eyes again, so at ease, when she says, “I love you.”

 

Lydia reaches forward, pressing a hand against his chest, feeling his heart pick up in speed until he’s opening his eyes, and he looks frantic.  “Lydia—”

 

“I do,” she says, her own eyes wide and maybe a little bit afraid, “I think I have for a while, and I just haven’t realized it, and this has everything and nothing to do with last night, but Stiles, I—I want to be with you.  I want to be _yours_ , and I want you to be _mine_ , and I want this, for as long as possible, and I—I—I love you.”

 

He’s quiet for an agonizing minute, just letting them sit there in silence until Lydia is just about ready to fidget, and then he smiles and kisses her.  “I love you,” he says against her mouth, and maybe she giggles a little, and maybe he pulls her against him and just holds her, his Lydia.

_When you walked into the room just then,_

_It’s like the sun came out._

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little longer than I intended, but _oh man_ did I love writing this. I _adore_ them. I honestly just about lose my shit every single time they have a scene together, and I am so ready for them to be a real couple, it needs to _happen_.
> 
> I’d originally intended, as it says in my opening notes, for this to encompass all of season three, but then it kind of got away from me, and so now it’s only 3a and a tiny bit of those four months. I’m going to be doing one for 3b, but I’m going to be writing it while it’s premiering, so I don’t think it’ll be posted until about a week or two after the finale. It will definitely be the sequel to this, so keep an eye out.
> 
> In the meantime, you should all definitely follow me on tumblr at [](sleeponrooftops.tumblr.com>sleeponrooftops</a>%20because%20I%E2%80%99m%20a%20wee%20bit%20insane%20over%20there,%20and%20I%20liveblog%20like%20it%E2%80%99s%20going%20out%20of%20style%20every%20Monday.%20%20I%20hope%20you%20enjoyed%20this,%20thank%20you%20so,%20so%20much%20for%20reading,%20and%20don%E2%80%99t%20forget%20to%20leave%20your%20thoughts!)


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